Unforgettable

The 40 Most Influential People and Moments of the Past Four Decades.

Forty years ago, a different running world existed. Americans weren't on the Olympic Marathon medal stand. Women weren't allowed to race 26.2. No one ran to earn money, let alone raise it for charity. Indeed, throughout Runner's World's 40-year history, our sport has been transformed, largely by the individuals and events--listed in chronological order--on the following pages. These stunning achievements, inspiring ideas, and bold exploits were revolutionary in their time, but the true measure of their impact is their lasting legacy.

Ryun, a stoic hard-training Kansan, was just 19 on July 27, 1966, when he set a new world record of 3:51.3 in the mile, the most glamorous event in track and field in that era. He took a full 2.5 seconds off the old mark, becoming the first American in 32 years to hold the record. All the national news broadcasts interrupted regular programming to give the race results, and Ryun was named Sports Illustrated's Sportsman of the Year. "He kicked off a generation of great American running," says Marty Liquori, one of Ryun's fiercest rivals. "We were back on top again, and Ryun showed that was possible." Ryun, now 59, says that at the time, he simply felt "an enormous sense of relief."

When Boston Marathon official Jock Semple hopped off a press truck four miles into the 1967 Boston Marathon and yelled "get out of my race" as he tried to rip the #261 off of K.V. Switzer, pictures of the altercation ran in newspapers around the world, changing women's running forever. "K.V." was 20-year-old Kathrine Switzer, the first woman to officially--if illegally--enter the Boston Marathon. "I knew that women were capable of running marathons if they were only given the opportunity," she says. Switzer's Boston finish created that opportunity. She went on to win the 1974 New York City Marathon, and was influential in the creation of the first Avon International Marathon in Atlanta in 1978, which featured 20 of the world's top female distance runners. She was also a prime lobbyist for the 1984 women's Olympic Marathon, and became an award-winning commentator at the Olympics and major marathons.

Dr. Cooper, whose 1968 book Aerobics became a best-seller, pioneered the easy-does-it approach that made exercise accessible to the out-of-shape masses. In 1971, he launched the Institute for Aerobics Research in Dallas, now called Cooper Aerobics Center, where the 75-year-old still works today. "Dr. Cooper believed that exercise could be used as a form of medicine," says William Roberts, M.D., medical director of the Twin Cities Marathon, "and that within every patient there was an athlete." In 1975, the center conducted the broadest study ever of elite distance runners, recording Steve Prefontaine's unprecedented 84.4 maximal oxygen uptake and providing the gold standard in determining the physiological components of world-class running.

When the Kenyan ran away from the American favorite, Jim Ryun, in the 1968 Mexico City Olympics 1500-meter final, setting an Olympic record 3:34.9, the curtain was raised on the Kenyan running revolution--what would become the most dominant force in distance-running worldwide. With his grace and humility, Keino did not take on a priestly posture but instead gave the impression that other runners could match or even surpass his feats. "Keino was the best ambassador Kenya could hope for," says John Manners, a Kenyan-born journalist. Soon, Kenyan runners by the score would win every distance event from Boston to Bangkok, from 10-Ks to marathons.

At 6'2" and 200-plus pounds, with a brush cut and Tyrolean hat, Bowerman looked every bit the World War II veteran and old-school football coach he'd once been. Yet this man had running in his blood. In his 25 years as head coach of the University of Oregon's track program, he led his team to four NCAA championships and made Eugene the Mecca of American track and field. His athletes set 13 world and 22 American records, and 23 went on to the Olympics. Bowerman also helped ignite the recreational running boom in 1966 with his book Jogging. And Nike, the company he cofounded with Phil Knight in 1964, supplied the shoes for the revolution. Says two-time Olympian Kenny Moore, who ran for Bowerman at Oregon and recently published the biography of his coach, who died in 1999 at the age of 88: "He influenced more runners in more ways than any person who ever lived. Period."

Sports and science used to have as much to do with each other as, well, jocks and nerds. But as head of the Human Performance Lab at Ball State University, Costill helped usher in an era of athletic enlightenment. "He was one of the first to apply scientific methods to endurance training," says Douglas Casa, of the University of Connecticut's Human Performance Lab. In 1970, for example, runners were forbidden from drinking in the first 10-K of a race. Costill's research found that runners were becoming seriously dehydrated and overheated, some collapsing with body temperatures reaching 109 degrees. His findings led to an overhaul of hydration rules and paved the way for aid stations at races. Costill, 70, has since published more than 400 influential studies on topics ranging from carbo-loading to muscle-fiber composition to heat exhaustion.

His marathon victory at the 1972 Olympics in Munich shouldn't have been such a surprise. In 1971, he'd been first at the Pan American Games and in Fukuoka, Japan, the unofficial "world championship" of marathoning in that era. Still, it had been 64 years since an American won the Olympic Marathon. In Munich, Shorter bided his time before taking over in the ninth mile. "I showed the rest of the world that Americans could endure," he says. "Until then, the marathon was considered the domain of athletes from British cross-country clubs or northern Europe or Africa." His Munich triumph, and a silver medal in Montreal four years later, planted seeds for the proverbial "running boom." "It wasn't that I was a symbol and then everything else happened," says the 59-year-old. "I've always enjoyed being a part of it.

It's fitting that Corbitt ran for the Pioneer Athletic Club. He led the way for ultrarunning and masters running by winning and setting records at races of 30 to 50 miles while in his 40s and 50s. He also revolutionized road-course measurement and certification by establishing the Calibrated Bicycle Method (still used today); served as the first president of the New York Road Runners; and was the first African-American to win the U.S. Marathon Championships as well as a 1952 Olympic marathoner. "I've always liked challenges," he says simply. Now 87, Corbitt is promoting the addition of an ultramarathon to the Olympics--and despite asthma and prostate cancer, he's still active. "I've run 199 marathons and ultras," he says, "and I'd like to finish with 200."

Sure, Liquori was fast. He ran a 3:59.8 mile in high school and, as a freshman at Villanova University, made the Olympic Trials. He beat Jim Ryun in 1971's "Dream Mile" and was number one in the world in the 1500 and 5000 meters. But that's only part of the story. "Marty was the first businessman-runner," says Craig Masback, chief executive of USA Track & Field. "He had a very early sense of marketing the sport." In 1972, Liquori dreamed up the idea of a sporting-goods store that sold only athletic shoes. That same year, he also began a broadcasting career that has spanned six Olympics and 25 New York City Marathons.
Most runners make headlines by moving their feet. Kuscsik got attention by sitting down. Yes, she was the first woman to win the Boston Marathon and was a two-time winner of the New York City Marathon. But it was Kuscsik who led the famous women's sit-down strike at the starting line of the 1972 New York City Marathon to protest women's inequality in marathon running. And it was Kuscsik who lobbied to change the Amateur Athletic Union's rules that prevented women from participating in distance races in the first place. Her activism led to the creation of the first women's Olympic Marathon in 1984. At 67, Kuscsik is no longer running (due to a knee injury) but is still advocating for the underdog as a patient representative at New York's Mount Sinai Hospital. For her, it's a natural instinct. "When you see something that's not fair, and think that you can have some input," she says, "you just go ahead and do it."

Rodgers and the running boom hit the American consciousness at the same moment, and the synchronicity was a benefit to both. Rodgers was a grad student when he emerged as "Boston Billy," the hero of the Boston Marathon in 1975. He won three more times there, and four consecutive times in New York City, and was so unassuming and approachable--like your best friend, only faster--he closed the gap between "elite" runners and mass participants. "It's hard for everyone, the way I look at it," Rodgers, 58, says. "Everybody pays the price and feels the fatigue. I understand the feeling runners have when they're struggling." By racing and earning age-group awards in his 40s and 50s, Rodgers, proved what a "life sport" running could be.

There has never been another American runner quite like Pre, the University of Oregon star who died at 24 in a car accident in 1975, hours after winning a 5000-meter race at Hayward Field. At the time, he held all seven U.S. records from 2000 through 10,000 meters. He won the NCAA 5000 from 1970 through '73, and in 1972 placed fourth in the Olympic 5000. He had rock-star celebrity; fans showered him with "Go, Pre!" chants as he sped down the track, running hard from the start, pushing as he had pushed beyond surrender in all aspects of life. His legacy lives on through one of America's premier track-and-field events--the Prefontaine Classic. "Steve wanted to achieve his goals legitimately and honestly, without taking advantage of others," says rival and friend Frank Shorter. "His memory shows kids that who you are and how you pursue your goals is what's important."
By Michele Marchetti

Between 1977 and 1987, Coghlan was known as "Chairman of the Boards" for his dominance on the U.S. indoor running circuit. Coghlan won the Wanamaker Mile at the Millrose Games seven times. At the twilight of his career, in 1994, he defied stereotypes about age and speed, becoming the first man older than 40 to run a sub-four-minute mile (his 75th). The staying power, the Irish brogue, and a Bono-like charisma (he once told a reporter than competing in the Wanamaker was like "running on a cushion of air") made the indoor track season more popular, if only for a short time. The year after Coghlan retired, attendance at the Millrose Games plummeted by 3,000 spectators. "People always talked about what influence any particular athlete has on a gate," says Howard Schmertz, Millrose's meet director from 1975 to 2003. "I always said it wasn't proven to me that any one athlete made a difference--except for Eamonn Coghlan."

Knight didn't set out to build the largest sports and fitness company in the world. The idea behind Nike, he says, was simply "to provide better track-and-field shoes." A 4:15-miler at the University of Oregon, Knight was also one of Bill Bowerman's "shoe testers"--guys who blistered their feet in service to their coach's quest for lighter, more durable footwear. In 1964, Knight and Bowerman shook hands, and Blue Ribbon Sports began importing Japanese running shoes. The company split from its supplier in 1972 and started manufacturing its own shoes under the name of Nike. The company's marketing has made it an influential global brand--the pervasive "swoosh" has no cultural barrier, and powerful campaigns like "Just Do It" inspire the everyday athlete.
By Dave Kuehls

"At a time in the 1970s when the rest of us wrote about how to train for a marathon, how to choose shoes, and how to fight the latest injury, George took on bigger topics--the 'whys' of running," says former Runner's World editor Joe Henderson, who hired Dr. Sheehan as a columnist for the magazine. The cardiologist's musings about running and life created a large, devoted following--his book Running and Being reached number one on The New York Times best-seller list in 1978. He authored seven more books and lectured around the world until his death in 1993, four days before his 75th birthday. "George wrote about what other runners were thinking," says Henderson, "but didn't have the words to express."

On April 21, 1980, Ruiz became the most famous person to wear the laurel wreath at the Boston Marathon. Shortly after the 23-year-old New Yorker crossed the finish line, there were complaints that nobody remembered seeing her during the race. It took more than a week for organizers to prove she had jumped in at the final half mile. Her title was stripped and awarded to rightful winner Jackie Gareau, and Ruiz became an embarrassment to the running community. "The ripple effect was, how can we prevent this from happening again?" says Dave McGillivray, the current Boston Marathon race director. Other race organizers started setting up video cameras and checkpoints along the course. Then ChampionChip, a computerized tracking system, was introduced in 1996. Boston still sees 10 to 20 people a year cross the finish without having run through all the checkpoints. But because of Ruiz, they'll never get a medal--or wear the laurel wreath.

In 1980, America's top runners formed the Association of Road Running Athletes (ARRA), led by Kardong, a 1976 Olympic marathoner. The ARRA fought to change amateur regulations prohibiting runners from accepting prize money or payment. "The ARRA gave athletes a greater stake in their futures, financial and otherwise," says Bill Rodgers, an ARRA member, who credits Kardong's leadership with the group's success. Once prize money was legitimized, Kardong, who is now 57, worked to expand the professional racing circuit until its establishment made the ARRA obsolete.
By Erika Rasmusson Janes

Salazar is the last American man to have won the New York City Marathon, in 1982, and one of only two men to win it three consecutive times. But the truest measure of his influence may be his efforts to ensure that those mantles won't always be his. The Cuban-born runner set six U.S. records and one world record over the course of his career. These days he's concentrating on making other people fast, as the coach of elite distance runners such as 2004 Olympian Dan Browne. "Alberto's times speak for themselves, and he'll always be remembered for them," says Browne. "But as a coach, we'll continue to see great things from him for the next 20 years."

As a world-class marathoner and 1972 Olympian (10,000 meters), Galloway was an unlikely Pied Piper for novice runners. Yet broadening the appeal of the sport became his crusade. He founded the first running store in 1973, the first adult running camp in 1975, the first nationwide marathon-training program in 1977, and wrote the best-selling running book of all time, Galloway's Book on Running, in 1984. More than two decades later, these enterprises are still going strong with four Phidippides stores, 230 Galloway camps and clinics, 10,000 annual marathon-training-program participants, and a half-million book sales. Our "Starting Line" columnist is now best known for popularizing low-mileage marathon training and walk breaks. "I spend most of my time advising beginners because they have the most questions," says Galloway, 61. "Longtime runners have already figured out what works for them."

When he was a world-class marathoner in the 1970s, Maxwell often encountered the event's highest nutritional hurdle: How do you take in enough calories to avoid an energy crash, but not so many that you suffer GI problems? His solution was an easily digestible bar, which he concocted in his kitchen with his future wife, Jennifer, a nutritionist. His PowerBar spawned an entirely new food category and a $470-million-a-year industry. "Brian was on a mission to find the perfect training and racing energy source," says Mike Fanelli, a San Francisco coach who occasionally ran with Maxwell until Maxwell's death in 2004 at the age of 51. "It was a pivotal development in sports nutrition."
By Kelly Bastone

Kelley inspired the master's boom by refusing to let advancing age force him off the starting line. In his youth, he was one of America's top runners--a three-time Olympic qualifier who twice won the Boston Marathon and finished in Boston's top five 15 times between 1934 and 1950. Back then, runners quit competing once they hit their 40s and 50s. "But Johnny just shot right past that barrier and didn't look back," says Dave McGillivray, race director of the Boston Marathon--a race in which Kelley competed a record 61 times, with 58 finishes. Kelley's zest for competition never faded--he ran marathons until the age of 84. He died in 2004 at the age of 97. "These days, half the field is over 40," says McGillivray. "Johnny proved that it could be done."

Dr. Noakes, a runner with more than 70 marathon and ultramarathon finishes, has had to wait a long time for his ideas to gain wide acceptance. The University of Cape Town professor first began describing hyponatremia in the late 1980s, but the rest of the world didn't pay much attention until the early 2000s when several marathoners died from the excess-water/low-sodium condition. His 1,000-plus-page Lore of Running was also completed in the 1980s. However, British and American booksellers, who were reluctant to publish a white South African in the age of apartheid, rejected Lore. Apartheid crumbled in 1990, Lore reached the United States in 1995, and the fourth edition (2002) is considered the ultimate tome on the science of running. In 1999, Dr. Noakes was elected to the International Olympic Committee's Olympic Science Academy. "Science changes slowly," says exercise scientist David Costill, Ph.D. "The recognition of hyponatremia is one of the biggest changes of the last 30 years."

At the 1988 Seoul Olympics, fans were enthralled by the power and speed of Canada's Ben Johnson--and shocked by his massive arms and legs. Johnson defeated Carl Lewis in the 100 meters, but the gold went to Lewis after Johnson tested positive for steroids. In the post-Johnson era, drug testing is more prevalent and sophisticated, but so are a new panoply of drugs for which there are no reliable tests. And this summer, America's top sprinter, Justin Gatlin, tested positive. Jim Scherr, the U.S. Olympic Committee's Chief Executive Officer, cites a clean, drug-free team as his main objective for the 2008 Beijing Olympics. "If we don't participate with honor and dignity, then what we do means nothing."
By Erika Rasmusson Janes

Masback's resume is impressive, with 30 sub-four-minute miles, a 15-year broadcast career, during which he covered the Barcelona and Atlanta Olympics, and his position as CEO of USA Track & Field. When Masback took the reins in 1997, the organization needed a makeover. "We were $3 million-plus in debt," says USATF president Bill Roe. Erasing that debt was just part of Masback's success. Under his leadership, USATF athletes brought home two medals in the Athens Olympic Marathon--a feat that hadn't been done in 20 years. And in response to the current doping scandals, Masback, 50, has launched a "zero tolerance" policy for USATF athletes.

When she crossed the finish line of the Marine Corps Marathon in 4:29:15, Winfrey proved that people of all shapes and sizes could achieve their fitness goals. "She gave people hope," says Rick Nealis, Marine Corps's race director. He notes that after Winfrey, the percentage of female participants running the Marine Corps Marathon jumped from 20 to 45. "That day, Oprah was just another runner, putting one foot in front of the other," says Nealis.

In 2000, only one American man and one U.S. woman even qualified for the 26.2-milers in the Sydney Olympics. But four years later, Meb Keflezighi and Deena Kastor, training partners in Mammoth Lakes, California, dared dream of so much more than merely making it to the Athens Games. Methodically and masterfully, they trained with the medals stand in mind. In 95-degree swelter, Kastor ran a perfect and patient race, weeping as she realized, in the final meters, that she had earned bronze. Smooth and buoyant, Keflezighi was in the contending pack all the way, and cruised to a silver medal, making the United States the only nation to win medals in both the men's and women's marathons. "There was a lot of pessimism, saying U.S. runners weren't in the game anymore," says Terrence Mahon, who helps coach Kastor and Keflezighi for Team Running USA. "Meb and Deena showed that it was possible for our athletes to be some of the best in the world."
Arthur Lydiard

By Kenny Moore

His last American speaking tour was in 2004. After lecturing in Eugene, Oregon, he had a raucous lamb dinner with some old Oregon runners. I got Arthur alone in the kitchen, refreshed his Pilsner Urquell, and said his brutally ambitious travel plans would kill me.

He drove his thumbs into my thighs. "Kenny," he said, "I ordered it that way. I'm happiest when I'm in harness, spreading the word." He didn't actually say he wanted to die in the traces, but his look indicated that would be acceptable. Seven weeks later in Texas, Lydiard died of a heart attack. He was 87.

Looking back, it is startling to realize how messianic this old friend was. He became the greatest running influence of his century because he was physically irresistible, this feisty, relentless little guy with the penetrating voice, the bone-breaking grip and the searching blue eyes that refused to let you look away until he knew you were his, until you believed.

His expertise rose up out of the same well: himself. He created the training system that would produce New Zealand's stable of victors only after nine years of running in the kauri bush near Auckland. He emerged a marathoner, winning the 1953 New Zealand championship. But he also made a defining observation: stamina gained aerobically made him better able to bear and benefit from anaerobic speedwork. He used that principle to train young neighbors Murray Halberg, Barry Magee, and Peter Snell. In the 1960 Olympics, Halberg won the 5000 meters and Snell the 800. Magee took the bronze in the marathon. Snell won the 800 and 1500 in the 1964 Olympics, and twice broke the mile world record.

But Arthur lived, as well, to reach out to the throng. In 1961, he began the Auckland jogging club, introducing slow trotting to people who desperately needed it for their health. "Train, don't strain" swept the world. The lives improved were uncountable.

If you felt that surge of vigor he promised a week after a killing 30-miler, you loved him. If you had been blasting weeks of intervals to the point of illness and gotten so stale your effort was not only unrewarded but idiotic, then his 100 miles a week not only brought you improvement but meaning. Then you lifted your Pilsner to the man who came to know himself so well he knew all of us, too. Arthur gave us strength.
Fred Lebow

By Amby Burfoot

I knew Fred Lebow years after he was Fischl Lebowitz, the scrappy kid from Transylvania, Romania, but well before he became just "Fred," the one-syllable race director known around the world. When Lebow took the New York City Marathon from the confines of Central Park to the dirty, not-yet-gentrified streets of the five boroughs in 1976, we all thought he was crazy. Even Frank Shorter, the marquee star, quipped that he came mainly to see how many runners would get mugged. The answer was zero, and the citywide marathon turned out to be the most inspired and significant idea in the history of distance running.

It was far from Lebow's only stroke of genius. In 1972, he organized the first women-only road race, the Crazy Leggs Mini-Marathon. Crazy indeed. There were only a handful of women runners at the time, but Lebow gave them his full support. Lebow also pioneered the Empire State Building Run-Up and the Fifth Avenue Mile. His eventual successor, Allan Steinfeld, called him the "P.T. Barnum of running." The New York Times once termed him a "charming hustler." They both fit.

Lebow ran 69 lifetime marathons, including the first New York City Marathon in 1970, finishing 45th of 55 in 4:12:09. But his last was most memorable. It was 1992. Lebow was in remission from the brain cancer that had struck two years earlier. We thought he was crazy again, weak and frail as he was. Even with nine-time New York City champ Grete Waitz running at his side, how could he cover the distance? Somehow he did. Lebow made it to the finish in 5:32:35. Crossing the line, he painfully lowered himself to the road and kissed the promised land. The rest of us, we just wiped away the tears.

Lebow died two years later at 62, precisely four Sundays before the 25th running of the New York City Marathon. The next Wednesday, 3,000 gathered for a memorial service in front of the marathon finish line. The Parks Department said it was the biggest memorial gathering in Central Park since John Lennon's death. "If it weren't for Lebow, the New York City Marathon wouldn't have happened," said Mayor Rudy Giuliani. "It's a living legacy the city's very grateful for."

Then Steinfeld asked us to join hands, think of Lebow, and walk across the finish line. We moved very slowly. I believe maybe we didn't want to cross over the line, which, lacking Lebow's presence for the first time ever, signaled that he was gone. Lebow would have been fine with our pedestrian pace. He liked the world record setters, of course, but he understood, at a very deep level, that the marathon was principally an event for runners like himself. "In running, it doesn't matter whether you come in first, or in the middle of the pack, or last," he once said. "You can say, 'I have finished.' There's a lot of satisfaction in that."

He was right, as he was about most things.
Grete Waitz

By Don Kardong

She was the first "girl" to beat me in a road race. It happened in a 10-K in 1980. I had finished fifth the year before in a respectable 30:12, but this time I was having problems. I was plodding along near the four-mile point, wrapped in my personal cocoon of misery, when suddenly a quick-stepping, pig-tailed waif zipped up to my shoulder. Waitz surged without comment, and I watched powerlessly as she left me floundering in arrears.

It didn't seem like it at the time, but my drubbing by Norway's Grete Waitz was an honor. Even then, at only 26, Waitz's success on the track was well known among the cognoscenti--she was number one in the world in both the 1500 and 3000 meters in 1975--but her marathoning was what was really drawing attention. In her first, the 1978 New York City Marathon, she set a new women's world record of 2:32:30. The next year she repeated as New York champ, in the process becoming the first woman in history to see the light side of 2:30 (2:27:33).

It was, in fact, Waitz's mastery of the streets of Gotham that became the greatest slice of her legacy. She would win New York an unprecedented nine times, and her spirit and grace earned her the admiration of runners and hard-boiled New Yorkers alike. At a time when there was no Olympic Marathon for women, and when the participation of females in distance races still raised eyebrows, Waitz proved that you could be tough, disciplined, unyielding, and yet approachable. She wasn't the only woman to pioneer marathoning, but she had an engaging style all her own.

In 1980, I was hired by a magazine to follow Waitz during her third New York City race. I'll never forget her stoic focus, nor the shouts of encouragement from the crowds, some peppered with what in a different context, and if offered with less enthusiasm, would have carried the odor of chauvinism. "Atta girl! Go get 'em!" "Go, babe, you can do it!" And the chants of "Gret-uh! Gret-uh! Gret-uh!" from groups of women. On the New York stage, Waitz was the first female marathoning superstar. On that day, she notched her third straight New York title in 2:25:42. It's impossible to know how many women she inspired then or in subsequent years, but the number is certainly legion.

Waitz retired to Norway, where she's been a compelling evangelist for running and fitness. She has also continued to run, even in the wake of a cancer diagnosis in 2005. Anyone who watched Waitz power through the streets of New York, though, or who was passed by her midrace as I was, will surely sense that the outcome of her current battle will be another inspiring victory.
Jim Fixx

Schadenfreude is the pleasure we take in the misfortunes of others. The word is German, but Americans go for it too, particularly if that other person is famous. And certainly it's thrilling to watch a gigantic reputation collapse. In the case of James F. Fixx, though, we've had a little too much fun for our own good. We've blamed the man for dying.

Certainly, he was famous for being healthy. His landmark book The Complete Book of Running was the best-selling nonfiction hardcover book ever at the time of its publication in 1977. The back flap showed the once-220-pound author slimmed to 160. Text boasted that he had finished six Boston Marathons and run "the equivalent of once around the equator."

So when the man who had spoken eloquently of longevity died young, there was a lot of gleeful cackling, particularly among those more interested in finding just the right couch than in finding just the right coach.

Rereading his book today, though, is not to revisit the reputation. Instead it's a reminder of the skilful writer and the man who, as a newly minted celebrity, came to The Reader's Digest, where I then worked. Despite the IQ that had gotten him into Mensa, despite his unprecedented publishing triumph, Fixx had not a shred of pretension. When we flattered him on the weight he'd lost, he shifted the attention away from himself and told us how thin Bill Rodgers was. "Shaking hands with him was like holding a handful of bones."

His observations about the nation's trend toward obesity are tragically prophetic. More startling are the not-infrequent references to the disease that would kill the author. Running, he had written, can "significantly reduce the risk of developing coronary heart disease, a fact that has long impressed me, since my own coronary heredity is not all it might be."

Fixx's father, we would later learn, had had a heart attack at 35 and died of one at 42. Although his life was almost certainly extended by running, Fixx himself died during a solitary trot on Route 15 in Hardwick, Vermont. He was 52.

This runner wishes Fixx had taken the stress test offered by Kenneth Cooper, M.D. Surgery might have repaired the blocked arteries. Such a lively and generous intelligence is sorely missed.

Running, he wrote, "will show you how to become healthier and happier than you have ever imagined you could be. . .With proper preparation and a few elementary precautions, practically anyone who can walk can run." Ablaze with altruism, his words were a stinging, if unintentional, rebuke to those who didn't follow him onto the street. He was also mortal.

If they want to, the couch potatoes are free to scorn Jim Fixx for running. Not everybody runs. But nobody can attack the man for dying. We all do that.
Joan Benoit's Olympic Marathon

By Cynthia Gorney

The Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum held 77,083 people the morning of August 5, 1984, all of them assembled for a spectacle previous generations of Olympic organizers had insisted was impossible or physically perilous or threatening to the social order or something--it feels ludicrous now even to try explaining to our daughters that the first-ever Olympic women's marathon took place only 22 years ago. If you had tickets, you crowded into the stadium stands and waited; if you didn't, you staked out a spot on the streets of Santa Monica. I didn't have tickets, but my motel was two blocks away. When I went running at daybreak, an ordinary woman out for her daily five-miler, strangers waved at me and cheered; I waved and cheered back. We all knew how big it was.

What my husband still remembers from that morning, watching the racers pass: These are the best in the world. The lead runner was tiny and short-haired and her face was hidden under the white brim of her cap. It was 27-year-old Joan Benoit, of Freeport, Maine, the best of the best in the world, pulling away. By mile three she would be running by herself.

In our motel lobby, people crowded around the television for the finish. We were all staring at it, holding our breath, when Benoit turned into the stadium entry tunnel and ran out into the sunshine to begin her closing lap. Her cap brim was cocked up by now, and because her singlet was too big, her bra strap showed, making everything about her seem exaggerated as she rounded the last curve without another competitor in sight--exceptionally slender, memorably female, untouchably fast.

All the spectators were on their feet, cheering Benoit across the finish line. In our motel we shouted at the screen, jumped up and down, clapped each other on the back. This was two hours, twenty-four minutes, and fifty-two seconds after the race had begun; Benoit won the Olympic Marathon in a time two minutes slower than her own world record, set the year before at Boston. When it was over, she pulled off her cap, took the American flag someone gave her, and let herself beam for the victory lap. It was glorious, and then for a few minutes it was terrible--the American-Swiss runner Gabriela Andersen-Schiess, a 39-year-old Idaho ski instructor competing for Switzerland, staggered into the stadium, insensible from heat exhaustion, and dragged herself like a wounded animal around her last lap before crossing the finish line in 37th place and collapsing. But she recovered, the staggering lap went into history as tenacity rather than tragedy, and no coach will ever again tell a passionate young runner that distance competition is only for men.
1970First Boston Marathon with a Qualifying TimeHoping to narrow the field, Boston Marathon organizers required all runners to have run a sub-four-hour marathon. It did nothing to diminish the numbers, so the bar was raised to 3:30. Although times have since been adjusted to account for age and gender, the standards remain an inspirational goal for runners. "Before qualifying times, there was nothing definitive to shoot for," says Dave McGillivray, Boston's race director. --Lessley Anderson

1972First Boston Marathon to Welcome WomenIn 1951, a woman reportedly completed the Boston Marathon incognito. In 1966, Roberta Gibb ran it in 3:21:40. But the Amateur Athletics Union prohibited women from running more than a mile and a half. Finally, bowing to aggressive lobbying, Boston allowed women to enter in 1972. Nina Kuscsik (above, right) was the first official champ (3:10:26), and since then the race has hosted many of the brightest lights in women's running. --Peter Gambaccini

1976First Five-Borough New York City MarathonIn 1976, Fred Lebow heard a seemingly outlandish idea from George Spitz, a New York runner and political gadfly with grand visions for the city: Spitz thought the New York City Marathon course should undertake a tour of the city's five boroughs. Lebow was skeptical, but when the idea gained support from Manhattan borough president Percy Sutton and a $25,000 sponsorship from the Rudin family real-estate company, Lebow figured it was worth a try. The first race (shown above) attracted 2,090, and the urban marathon boom was launched. --Amby Barefoot

1980First Modern-Day Race Prize Money AwardedThe runners who accepted checks totaling $50,000 at the 1980 Atlantic City Marathon challenged the Amateur Athletic Union (AAU) rule that runners could not be paid for their efforts. The offering had a domino effect: Two months later, the Rose Bowl Marathon awarded prize money. The following year many of the sport's biggest stars dashed for cash at the Cascade Run Off 15-K. They had cornered the AAU, which soon backed down, and professionalism broke wide open. --Bob Cooper

1983First Race for the CureThe Komen Race for the Cure was founded in 1983 with a singular goal: to support breast-cancer prevention and treatment. But it sparked the trend of charity racing. The series has played a leading role in the growth of fund-raising through running events, which reached $656 million in 2005. And because almost anyone can run or walk 3.1 miles, the race series has introduced thousands of previously inactive people to the sport. --Bob Cooper

1987First Kenyan Wins at the New York City MarathonOn November 1, 1987, Ibrahim Hussein became the first Kenyan to break the tape at the New York City Marathon. Hussein's victory at the high-profile race signaled his nation's emerging dominance of the sport. In Kenya, Hussein's $27,500 prize represented a way out of poverty. In 2005, of the 402 performances for men under 2:15, 200 were claimed by Kenyans. --Michele Marchetti

1988First Charity TeamThe idea of a fund-raising team training, traveling, and running a marathon together was hatched when 38 Team in Training (TNT) runners raised $322,000 for the Leukemia Society at the 1988 New York City Marathon. Today, TNTers are a powerful force, swelling race fields, raising more than $100 million annually, and contributing to the explosion of the second running boom. --Bob Cooper

1998First Rock 'n' Roll MarathonThe debut Rock 'n' Roll Marathon in San Diego was a smash hit: the largest first-time marathon ever, with 19,978 runners--many of them newbies enticed by the promise of live music at every mile. Elite Racing (organizer of the event) now offers musical full and half-marathons in six cities. Says Tim Murphy, CEO of Elite, "the old 'line up and go for it' approach isn't good enough. Runners expect music, excitement, spectators--things that make a marathon fun." --Kelly Bastone